


Core

by dentedsky



Category: Super Junior
Genre: Canon Compliant, Future Fic, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 15:11:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/901730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dentedsky/pseuds/dentedsky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryeowook is between his inner monster and death. Kangin has coffee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Core

It takes three days for Ryeowook to come downstairs, then another two days for him to come within two steps of his mail, the whole huge pile of it, shoved up against the door where the mailman has put it through the slot. He could count the months, but he doesn’t want to. He knows he should. He knows he should open at least one – perhaps one a day? It’s only mail, it can’t hurt him.  
  
Perhaps he should do a lot of things.  
  
What he does do is go back up the stairs, practically running through his anxiety, and goes back to his bedroom, burrows under the covers, and then sleeps.  
  
*  
  
  
Kyuhyun stops sending him text messages, eventually. It should break his heart, but his heart is a cold, burnt thing incapable of feeling. Changmin sent him a lot of texts at first, starting with nice, then eventually uncensored (“Want to fuck again? It was fun last time, yeah?”) then somewhat angry, (“Can you call Kyuhyun? He’s worried about you and it’s getting really fucking annoying.”)  
  
Hyungsik sends him messages too sometimes. Ryeowook speed-reads them, absorbing nothing. He doesn’t want his ex to know he’s a failure, a loser, a nothing piece of shit.  
  
*  
  
  
One day, someone knocks on his door. He curls into his blankets and makes his world as black as black can be, and waits for the knocks to go away.  
  
For days, weeks, months later, a private number calls him ten times per day. He doesn’t want to answer. Once, he came close, only to have a panic attack and drop his phone. He gets so scared he skips lunch because he’s too afraid to go to the kitchen.  
  
But eventually, he does answer the door when it knocks.  
  
The man on the other side looks apologetic, but only in that surface way, as if it would only take one stupid word from Ryeowook for him to turn stern and punishing.  
  
“Mr Kim?”  
  
“Yes,” Ryeowook whispers from a scratchy throat.  
  
The man pauses. He avoids Ryeowook’s eyes. Then, “Are you aware that you have missed several payments on your house?”  
  
*  
  
  
Kangin emails him, asks him out for coffee.  
  
Ryeowook says no.  
  
Kangin asks him several times after that, seemingly cheerful as if Ryeowook had not refused him a dozen times before. Finally, an agreement is made that Kangin can bring coffee to Ryeowook’s place in two days’ time.  
  
Ryeowook is an anxious mess the whole duration.  
  
*  
  
  
Kangin strolls right in and deposits their paper cupped coffee on Ryeowook’s kitchen bench. “I forgot which is your favourite, sorry,” Kangin natters. He turns and smiles at Ryeowook. “So I brought heaps of sugar and stuff.” He pulls out handfuls of sugar sachets and stirrers from his jacket pockets, bunched in his fists and sticking out from between his fingers.  
  
“Ok,” Ryeowook croaks through an unused throat.  
  
“I usually take two raw sugars myself,” Kangin goes on, turning to the bench and carefully pulling the cap off his coffee. He pours his sugar in and stirs. “And you?”  
  
“Can’t remember,” Ryeowook mutters, no longer caring, and goes to the lounge room to sit on the couch. Kangin joins him a moment later, handing him his cup. Ryeowook expects him to say something along the lines of “Are you ok?” like Kyuhyun does in his messages, but all he asks is,  
  
“Got any movies to watch?”  
  
*  
  
  
Kangin comes over every day.  
  
He makes Ryeowook read his mail, and together they get through it all.  
  
*  
  
  
One day, Kangin says, “Thank you, by the way.”  
  
Ryeowook turns away from his blank-eyed staring at the wall, and looks at Kangin properly for the first time. “What?”  
  
“No one talks to me after my jail time,” Kangin says. His eyes turn dark with loneliness. “No one except for you.”  
  
Too focused on himself and the dark monster clawing at his insides, Ryeowook had forgotten Kangin had run over someone a few years ago. The business man had survived, but Ryeowook never found out if he had ever recovered from his leg injuries. He opens his mouth to say something consoling, but instead says, “I’m going to lose my house.”  
  
For some reason this makes Kangin perk up. “You can live with me! We can be roomies!”  
  
Ryeowook – does something – something unfamiliar to his mind and the muscles in his face.  
  
He smiles.  
  
*  
  
  
Kangin wriggles under the blankets, his decent girth taking up most of the bed. Ryeowook, as skinny as a young tree, rolls onto his side so his friend can feel comfortable.  
  
“Thanks for letting me stay,” says Kangin, into the dark.  
  
“Thanks for staying on my last night here,” says Ryeowook.  
  
A pause.  
  
“Want to spoon?” asks Kangin.  
  
A shiver runs up Ryeowook’s spine; he’s not sure if it’s lust or anticipation or even fear, as he hasn’t been touched in a very, very long time. Ryeowook makes a noise in acquiescence, and then the mattress moves as Kangin rolls over then lands on top of Ryeowook. It’s less of a spoon cuddle and more like a sandwich: Kangin’s considerable weight covers Ryeowook’s small body completely from head to toe, all warm and solid-soft and suffocating.  
  
Ryeowook loves it. He’s never gotten his blankets to make him feel this covered, compressed, warm and breathless.  
  
“Is this ok?” Kangin’s question rumbles through Ryeowook’s body.  
  
“It’s great,” Ryeowook says into his pillow. He tries to laugh but there’s no air. “Feels really nice.”  
  
*  
  
  
Ryeowook lives with Kangin.  
  
“Sometimes it’s ok to be on the bottom,” Ryeowook says one day. The two of them pause to sip their coffees. “There’s nowhere else to go, and nothing left to lose. We can only go up from here.”  
  
“I think so too,” says Kangin. They’re out on the porch, surveying the dry, weedy mess that is Kangin’s neglected back yard.  
  
“Can I grow some vegetables?” Ryeowook asks.  
  
“’Course you can.”  
  
“Radish, tomato, onion, chilli?”  
  
“Sounds great.”  
  
Sip. Sip.


End file.
